


Swimming Beneath The Moon

by LiteralGuitarHero



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Alex Needs Help, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angelica is Okay and Then She's Kind of Awful and Then She's Cool and I Love Her Again, Depression, Eliza is so Sweet and We're Lucky to Have Her, He's in a Bad Space, James Reynolds Needs To Get a Toothpick Under His Toenail and Kick a Wall, John is good, M/M, Maria isn't With James Anymore Because Honestly Fuck That Guy, Non-Explicit Sex, Peggy is Mostly Drunk Sorry, SO SO GOOD, Trans Character, Transphobia, Underage Drinking, Violence, trans alexander
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 21:59:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14819657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiteralGuitarHero/pseuds/LiteralGuitarHero
Summary: He didn't lie when he'd said he been busy. It just wasn't work he was drowning in anymore, it was himself. And he hoped that they knew he was really sorry.(Warnings For: Violence, Transphobia, Dark Thoughts, Attempted Suicide, Some Sex (not explicit), and Underage Drinking)





	Swimming Beneath The Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This actually another thing I drafted in the hospital, and finally wrote for a narrative project in English.

He pulled the knit beanie over his head and fingered the large smooth buttons of his threadbare pea coat into place. He knew that he should announce his leave or say goodbye to Lafayette, but he didn’t have the energy, today; or any day for that matter.

  
The trek to the train was short, though when he finally swiped his MetroCard and was seated in the corner, the tip of his nose, and cheeks were flushed pink, and Alexander felt the tingling of blood rushing to the bottoms of his feet.

  
The train stunk, thickly of bile and sex, and immediately, he knew that Friedrich was on the train. He closed his eyes tight and prayed that he wouldn’t acknowledge him. It’d been a long day at the bookstore and he’d been longing to crawl into bed since the moment he’d gotten up.

  
“‘Xander? You com’n visi’ me?” a voice slurred and he saw a ripped-up tennis shoe enter his peripheral as he sat next to him. Friedrich rested a gnarled, grimy hand on his thigh and he felt his pulse quicken.

  
He was dressed in his filthy dark green coat, his greasy, mousy brown hair peeking out from under the edge of his grey cap. Rich had dull blue eyes, and dirty-peach coloured skin that was weathered and leathery from years of too much drink, and too little self-care. He smelled sour, of body odor and the drugs that Alex just knew were tucked into his pockets.

  
“I’m really not in the mood, Rich,” he murmured miserably, hoping he was at least sober enough to get the message and just leave him be.

  
“How about a little help for your best guy?” He chuckled drunkenly, and he sighed internally, Rich, while not rude, had never been all that perceptive, or subtle.

  
“What happened to the “help” I gave you the other day?” He asked him, as he laid his rank-smelling head on his shoulder.

  
“See, what had happened was, I was running an errand, and I saw Tench…”

 

____

 

He got home just after 4:30, with twenty dollars less in his pocket, and a deep aching in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten since that morning, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He hung up his coat and toed off his boots. Unwinding his scarf from his neck and pulling his hat off, he grabbed the afghan off the back of his beat-up sofa and curled up under it to go through his messages.

  
He noted the missed call from James with a sigh and knew that he hadn’t the heart to call back the man who had yet to even call him a he. He wanted to be angry at his brother for disrespecting his gender and his identity as an entirety, but he couldn’t because even though it made him feel like he’d been chained to an anchor and thrown into the ocean, he loved him. He was his family, and though he’d been angry at his development since he’d come to his realization all those years ago, he was all that he had and he couldn’t bring himself to cut them off, or even stand up for himself.

He burrowed deeper into the blankets and cried. His vision blurred, and his body shook like the earthquake of his mind had taken over, because, in a way, it finally had. His brain was packed tight, with things he shouldn’t think about, but were there all the time, and he couldn’t breathe anymore, because every breath was like a rich gulp from a flask full of things that he’d never deserve and he was so itchy and disgusting, trying to scratch his way out of his skin. Trying to think past the empty, heavy feelings, all the screwed up thoughts that plagued him. All he could offer was the frigid, weight inside him, and he knew, no one deserved the burden of him. It wasn’t like being sad. It was like being drowned, in everything that made him so sick to his stomach every time he looked in the mirror, and he couldn’t swim, and even if he’d been able to, he didn’t have the will to try anymore.

  
____

When he woke, he was vaguely aware of his stomach clenching and growling. He padded into the bathroom, and undressed quickly, avoiding looking down, avoiding what made him a freak, what kept him from being a _real_ guy. It was hilariously revolting, how even opening an eye sometimes, could crush him from the inside.

  
Showers were the worst.

  
Ten minutes of self-revulsion and deep desire to scrape off his flesh, and start over. To be clean, to be handsome, to not have the dreaded chest, and a muscular frame, and a real, actual cock. To be made aware of everything that he wanted but didn’t have.

  
He wasn’t skinny, he knew, and while it was sort of easier to hide his breasts, being fat would never be the same thing as being a man. He stuffed himself into his clothes with a deep sigh, and his eyes leaked as his heart wobbled.

  
Showers were the worst.

  
____

 

After a quick nibble off of a protein bar, and wrapping himself in all his layers, he pressed his headphones in and pulled his front door shut behind him. He didn’t let his eyes drift to his lonely neighbor trying to herd his dogs back into his apartment as he entered the elevator, and he ignored the man who lived above him, with his hands wandering the body of a busty brunette that looked nothing like the red-haired girl he’d brought back last night, or the blonde girl, with the love-bite speckled throat.

  
The cold air nipped his face upon opening the door out of the lobby, and briefly, he wondered why he hadn’t decided to go to school somewhere warmer in the winter. Troye Sivan was a good choice for this morning, he thought to himself, as he headed for the coffee shop a couple blocks from his building.

  
Maybe if he hadn’t been so focussed on trying to come up with a good excuse for not being around, or seeing his friends, he might’ve observed how the sky blushed, with teeny golden threads sewn into it here and there, and that the indie movie theater that he and Peggy both loved, was finally premiering the movie that they’d been so excited for months before. But he didn’t notice these things, as he pushed open the door, deciding that the best thing to say was that he’d been busy, swamped with classes and work, which, technically, wasn’t a lie.

  
He raised a hand to Eliza, John, and Peggy, who were seated in a booth in the back, and turned to go order. A paper cup of triple espresso pressed into his hand a minute later, he sat down next to Eliza, who welcomed him with a smile and a hug. He hated himself for knowing when Eliza was pitying him, but he knew it wasn’t Eliza’s fault. Being so empathetic and spending seven hours a day with five-year-olds, made her so soft-hearted, it was just in her nature, and she always knew the right things to say. So Alexander tried not to comment too much as Eliza fussed over him.

  
“How are you Alex? We’ve missed you so much. You look so thin, are you eating?”

  
He snorted internally. _Look thin?_

  
“M’fine, ‘Liza,” he muttered, trying to sink as far into his sweater as possible.

  
“Why haven’t you called? How are your classes? Is work okay? Are they being nice to you? Has anyone said anything? You’d tell me if someone said something, right? Also! I-”

  
“Eliza, let him breathe,” John chimed in, laughing, tenderly, rolling like tides. “He just got here, and you’re already trying to mother him to death.” His amber eyes glittered with mirth, and suddenly, Alexander found himself glad to have come.

  
“He could do with some mothering,” Peggy grinned, and even though, they were a little rougher than Eliza, he was happy to see his best friend. But Angelica was far more skeptical than her siblings and John, and would most likely call him out on his facade.

  
“Not calling for days, forgetting to feed himself, working himself to near death, going everywhere by himself without protection,” Angelica said coolly, “You best start taking better care of yourself before I move all my shit from London and move back here to kick your ass.”

  
“You know, we could get you a taser,” Eliza turned to Alex with a hand, as though she were weighing the option.

  
“I don’t need one,” Alexander threw a hand up, “And I feed myself plenty. I’ve just been really busy lately, it’s called _work_ -study.”

  
Peggy shook their head slightly, and Eliza’s brow creased in concern anyway. Alexander fidgeted his sweaty hands. He studied the smooth Formica tabletop, and silently pleaded for them to stop pressing anything further.

  
“So how is your class?” He asked Eliza, trying to change the topic. Thankfully, Eliza, bless her heart was infatuated with her kindergarten class and took the bait.

  
“Oh, they’re magnificent! They’re so smart, picking up addition concepts so quickly,” she beamed. “You wouldn’t believe all that they know only being five.”

  
The Schuylers turned to give their sister their attention, as she continued on. Alexander looked up and caught John’s eye. John winked, and he felt his face flush.

  
John was lovely. Nearly 6’ with soft, honey-coloured curls that reached his shoulders and bounced when he moved. He looked back and John had scrunched up his face, freckles crinkling as he gave Alexander a gummy smile.

  
He made him feel like he could be warm inside. With his kind words, and golden eyes that burned him when he stared because he was so full of light.

  
“Are we interrupting something?” Eliza cut in with a knowing smile at Alex. He turned his face down and muttered a ‘no’.

  
“We should party tonight,” Peggy said, drumming on the tabletop. “We should celebrate.”

  
“What are we celebrating?” John took a sip of coffee.

  
“The manifestation of the hermit, obviously,” Angelica gestured to the Caribbean boy, who looked down.

  
“How nice you are, Angie.” Peggy said dryly, before turning back. “It’s been weeks since we’ve all been together, we could do with a frolic. A few drinks, play cards, dance a little. No one but John has work tomorrow and it’d be fun.”

  
“Oh, that sounds fun!” Eliza said excitedly.

  
“Sounds good, Alex?” John cast a look at him.

  
“I dunno,” he mumbled, “I have an essay to finish, and another paper I have to start, and-”

  
His essay wasn’t due for a week, the paper on foreign trade wasn’t due for two. He knew he should make plans with his friends. He knew he should have wanted to go. He knew that a few months ago, he might’ve wanted to go, but right now, all he wanted was to go home, eat a bowl of Ramen and fall asleep on the couch to _The Golden Girls_.

  
“Why not?”

  
“We haven’t hung out in _months_. We miss you.”

  
“Come _on_.”

  
The replies were instant.

  
He loved his friends, truly, but it was exhausting enough to socialize for an hour, and he couldn’t imagine having to keep this up for the night.

  
_‘Because I’m a horrible person. How could anyone avoid their friends for months, and still not want to talk to them? I miss you too but I can barely get out of bed. Because I don’t want to ruin your guys’ time, and if I go it’s all that I’ll do.’_

  
“Yeah, I’ll come,” he found himself saying.“It’ll be fun.”

  
The cheers they emitted stung his eyes, and he was filled with self-loathing as he regretted agreeing.

____

 

It would be selfish and wrong to back out of plans that they’d made, and that was how he found himself, standing at the door of Eliza’s and Peggy’s apartment, a bag of candy hanging off of his wrist, and a bottle of Absolut wedged under the other arm.

  
“Alex is here!” Peggy opened the door and excitedly waved him in. Their chocolate curls framed their caramel, heart-shaped face, eyes glazed like they’d already been drinking, and they were barefoot.

  
The living room was decorated with orange fairy lights, casting a tangerine glow over everything. The pretty Persian rug had been rolled to one side of the room, exposing the wooden floor, and the speakers in the corner, throbbed as they blared David Bowie’s “China Girl”.

  
The kitchen light was on, and Eliza stood at the counter, pouring something into a red plastic cup, as John sat on said counter, talking vibrantly to Angelica, hands moving. The sight made him smile and he knocked on the wall before entering, leaning in the archway.

  
Eliza squealed, dancing from foot to foot excitedly, and relieved him of his purchases.

  
“Vodka, and candy? How kind you are to us,” she pinched Alex’s cheek gently and rounded back.

  
“Come get your drink, Pegs,” she called out into the dimmed space, where Peggy was currently whipping their head and bouncing to the music. They pivoted and sashayed their way into the kitchen, grabbing the plastic cup from Eliza, and taking a sip.

  
“It tastes like peppermint,” they informed her.

  
“Schnapps,” her sister responded, “What do you want, ‘Xander?”

  
He shrugged a shoulder in counter, “Have you got grape juice?” he asked before correcting himself. “Or anything is fine, I don’t really care.” He said quietly.

  
“We have grape juice,” Eliza assured him happily, and grabbed John’s hand, using it to twirl herself. She made Alex turn away while she worked. Alex could hear her opening and closing bottles, and the rattle of ice hitting a solo cup. Nothing had been too bad so far, and he hoped it would stay this lowkey the entire time because anything further would be too much.

  
“Okay here,” a cup was pushed into his hand and he took a sip, swallowing past the burn. It was strong. The heavy bitterness of the vodka edged with grape juice and something fizzy. It didn’t matter because he’d be drunk soon enough, and far more pleasant perhaps.

____

 

He was pressed into the couch, watching his friends spin and jive through song after song. Eliza put her arms up and swayed, twisting in her flowy, soft blue dress. Peggy’s body swung itself back and forth, their torso moving like they could fly out of their yellow tank top if they truly wanted to. Angelica’s denim painted hips rolled to the beat, and her hair and lipstick were mussed prettily.

  
John moved like he was possessed by a greater power. The lights caught his hair, making it gleam from gold to orange and back again. His lean body hopped and throttled- like he was trapped inside of himself. His head bobbed and his hair was tousled as he threw his head back, and Alexander swore he was glowing when he noticed him and quirked his lips.

  
He beckoned him forward and he cursed himself for automatically wanting to curl in.

  
He mouthed a _no_ and shook his head when John persisted. The siblings were in their own worlds, Angelica and Eliza caught in the music, Peggy too sloshed to see straight. John moved forward, and took Alexander’s hand, pulling him to his feet despite his attempts to throw all of his weight onto the couch. He was dragged nearer the speakers and felt himself flush again as John danced before him, looking, not expectant, just looking. He shook his head once more and the shorter felt his resolve crack unsteadily as John’s brow creased when he pouted.

  
He tightened his hand on Alexander’s and spun him. The alcohol, combatted the feelings of doubt as his hair was swept into his face and he nearly laughed. The liquor was burning pleasingly in his belly and his body felt loose and light. He grinned drunkenly and put his arm out for John to do it again. He breathed in exhilaration as he was whirled around once more, and turned his face upward to take in all of the lights.

  
“Dance, 'Xander!” Eliza shouted to him from where she was moving with Angelica on the edge.

  
Alex ran a hand through his hair, laughing breathily and started to move his feet, body vibrating. He wound his arm up and pushed his hips, feeling his body pulse with the song.

  
_I hate the headlines and the weather_  
 _I'm nineteen and I'm on fire_  
 _But when we're dancing I'm alright_  
 _It's just another graceless night_

  
It was a beautiful song, with a good strong beat, and a sweet voice, with leaden, dramatic harmony. It was filled with the words of someone who sounded like she had tried so hard to be happy and instead found things that could make the heaviness leave, if only for a little while. So Alex danced harder because he knew, and he could feel it.

_All of the things we're taking_   
_'Cause we are young and we're ashamed_   
_Send us to perfect places_

He pushed himself deeper into the music and his mind dove into the sentiments it was pulling from him. He was unaware of his vision going hazy and didn’t realize that he was crying until John was gently touching his shoulders, and the music had stopped.

  
“Alex, what’s wrong? What happened?” He seemed to have sobered up a bit, and though his eyes were still glazed over, they were filled with unease and concern. Alexander stared at him blankly for a moment, before realization hit him, and he filled with shame. He felt his eyes sting again and shook his head, his whole body cringing because he knew he’d messed up.

  
_‘Look what I did,'_ his head accused. _'_ _I fucked up their time. I knew I would too. And I still fucking came here. I don’t belong here. They don’t_ need _my bullshit.’_

  
“It’s fine, I’m fine. I’m sorry,” he muttered. The good feeling that’d been ignited in his stomach was gone. Now all he felt was the emptiness and the shame that he’d started with.

  
“ _Stop doing that!_ ” Angelica sighed exasperatedly. One would never have realized she was pissed unless you paid close attention to the set of her shoulders and the subtle way that her teeth were ground.

  
“Angie,” Eliza warned. Angelica breathed, and then she exploded.

  
“No, it needs to be said!” she shouted, advancing on Alexander. “It’s so goddamn stupid and pathetic when you do that! When you act like you’re okay, and nothing’s wrong! Do you have any idea how- how fucking _infuriating_ that is? We’re not stupid, we notice you disappearing for weeks at a time, and forgetting to eat and shower like a normal person, but clearly, you must think we are. You must think that we’re fucking idiots and can’t see shit. I know you stay home all the time. You hide from fucking everything, including us. So stop. Stop, because it’s almost laughable how angry you make me when you pull that shit, and if it’s really that bad, why don’t you go-”

  
“ _Angelica!_ ” This time it was John who snapped.

  
John who hardly got angry. John who helped people cross the street, and volunteered at the Soup Kitchen. Who rarely raised his voice, and tried so hard to spread peace. John who got so upset when he saw someone who was upset. John who had stopped fighting because he wanted to help people.

  
John who was red, with his jaw and fists clenched, and a vein on his temple exposed.

  
Alex felt himself tremble. John wasn’t supposed to yell. John was supposed to be happy, he deserved to be happy. He wasn’t supposed to be upset at Angelica, he loved Angelica.

  
_‘I did this.’_ He whimpered.

  
“You don’t know everything, you don’t know where he goes or what goes on while we’re not around! You don’t get to say that shit to him. You don’t get to upset him like that when you don’t fucking know shit!-”

  
“John you’re scaring him, stop it,” Eliza cried, running to Alexander’s side, where his complexion had turned red and blotchy from the stress and weeping, and he was shaking.

  
“Al-” he started toward him and he backed away, panicked. He grappled for the handle and wrenched the door open. Tearing down the hallway and out the main door. Snow fell around him and he scrubbed at his face, running down the sidewalk, eyes searching for the train entrance.

  
_‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I ruin everything!’_ His brain was screaming as he frantically searched his pockets for his MetroCard.

____

 

The lobby of his building was quiet, but still lit when he shuffled in. The dirty wall-lamp flickered against the horrendously orange walls, and he sighed. He’d sobered up a considerable amount on the walk home, and his head was starting to hurt, from crying or alcohol he wasn’t completely sure.

  
He pressed the button for the elevator and leaned against the wall.

  
Not only had he screwed up the night, he’d pissed off Angelica, and he’d pitted her and John against each other.

  
“Good evening.”

  
When the door slid open, he was greeted by the man above him. He was alone, to his surprise, and when he entered, his eyes followed Alexander as he pressed the button for the third floor. When he stood back, the man still didn’t move. The doors closed, and Alex let his head fall back against the cool metal.

  
“Y’know, I’ve never heard you speak,” the man said. “I bet you got a real nice voice.”

  
Alex said nothing.

  
“You’re real pretty,” he told him, and Alex felt his nails digging into his palms and finally turned to get a good look at him.

  
His sandy hair was tousled, and his hands were shaking. He had a black wife-beater, grey sweatpants, and only dirty socks on. He wasn’t ugly, but he wasn’t John and Alexander scolded himself as this thought crossed his mind.

  
“I bet you’re real pretty all over.” His voice had dropped and he sounded like he was talking more to himself than to Alexander. Their eyes met, the dark-haired boy’s chocolate and shiny from crying, his neighbor’s pale blue and bloodshot, and it occurred to Alex that he was probably on something.

  
“I’m James,” he said, putting a hand out.

  
He didn’t move.

  
“You are?” he moved closer.

  
He said nothing.

  
“You don’t want to talk? Fine.”

  
He grabbed Alexander’s wrist and he let out a startled sound, trying to squirm away.

  
“But I know what you are,” he whispered in his ear, and he panicked, trying to scramble away. “You’re one of those goddamn trannies. Those faggots, who pretend to be guys. You’re fucking disgusting, you sick piece of shit,” He shoved Alex down and he hit the metal panel, his head slamming the rail.

  
He went numb for a moment before all of the pain came hurtling to the back of his head. The shock stung his eyes and they watered as he pulled himself to his feet. A hand to the back of his head, as he tried to will the door shut, hurrying to try to get home before Charles could decide that he deserved worse and came back. He wasn’t bleeding but his head was pounding far worse than it had been when he’d gotten home, and he was scared and so tired.

  
His apartment was dark, the shadows being cast from the glowing moon. When the door closed, he didn’t bother taking his shoes off and walked into the bathroom. He flicked the light on, He stood before the mirror and studied himself. Eyes slightly red from crying and the pot they’d smoked earlier. Hair limp around his sallow face and falling out of the ponytail that he’d shakily attempted on the subway. Mouth trembling, trying not to talk himself about what he was about to do.

  
_HERSELF. SHE-- FUCKING_ SHE _GODDAMMIT--_

  
“It’s fine,” he whispered to himself, vision cloudy, “it’s alright, it wo- it won’t fall apart. It’ll be okay.”

  
He grabbed the pill bottles and took a deep breath. They were lighter than they’d seemed, than he’d expected. The teeny white buttons in his hand, so small yet capable of starting something new, and ending something else. Another deep breath and he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat.

  
He wouldn’t leave a note.

  
All of his words were useless. There was no real way to explain it. There was no proper way to apologize for all that he’d done. All the distress and anger he’d caused. He lifted the pills to his mouth and crumbled when he noticed.

  
“I’m sorry,” John told him earnestly, “I- just- _don’t?_ Please don’t.”

  
“ _John,_ ” he whimpered pathetically.

  
“You almost just- you were going to- I’m-” John’s eyes were shining, and his voice hitched, and his face crumpled as he began to cry.

  
He dropped his hands and pressed his face into John’s chest as he was pulled to him. They sank to the ground, Alexander spooned into his front.

  
“I’m sorry, John, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t- I can’t- I _hate_ myself, and I’m so fucked up, and I don’t mean to hurt you, but I can’t have you hate me, and if you knew, how awful I am, how bad it gets and how I can’t get out of bed sometimes, you would. I’m so broken and so fucking ugly. I get so stuck in my head, and I’m not even a _boy_. I just thought if I could-” the tears soaked his shirt, and he squeezed him closer. John strained for the pill bottle, kicking it away from them.

  
“-if I could do it, I could stop screwing everything up. I don’t mean to be so much, I was trying to fix it. _Goddammit!_ ”

  
“You- you can’t Alex. I don’t want you to, and I love you, and I can’t fix it, but I can’t lose you, and it’s not- I- please, I just- I love you so much, and I can’t,” he told him helplessly.

  
“I couldn’t. I just wanted to stop hurting everyone, I wanted to fix it, and I can’t and I’m sorry, _I’m so sorry John,_ ” he trembled.

  
“I was trying to fix it,” he kept sobbing. “It’s my fault.”

  
The guilt gnawed inside John as he wept into his hair.

  
“They hate me. And I hate me and I deserve to feel this way, but I don’t want to.”

  
“You don’t, Alexander,” John whispered.

  
“I was trying to be better.”

  
“I know, sweetheart, I know.”

  
____

 

It was about a week before John could convince him to tell the siblings, and when he did, Eliza broke down, pulling Alex into her side. Peggy sat like they couldn’t quite believe what they hearing, whispering their affections to him. Angelica sat rigidly, and left the room, slamming the door behind her. She returned a few moments later with tears running down her face and wrapped her arms around him.

  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t trust me, or tell me. I’m sorry for yelling at you. I never want anything bad to happen to you,” she murmured, kissing his forehead, “I love you.”

  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  
____

It was another few weeks before he finally got to therapy. When he did, he was careful not to talk too much during the sessions. It was alright though. Maria, that was her name, was patient and assured him to talk when he was ready. About two months in, when Alex finally did begin to open up, Maria was able to help him realize his stressors, prescribe him medications, _and_ refer him to a gender therapist, who promised that he could start hormone treatment soon.

  
That wasn’t to say there weren’t still shitty days. Days where Alex felt like he was drowning in his own head, and could barely stand to breathe. Days when the dysphoria gave him the urge to tear his skin off, but through these, he had his friends; Eliza would stop by with things she’d baked, or books she thought that he might like. Angelica would visit to study with him for exams, and discuss her law internship. Peggy took him shopping for clothes that were better suited for him. But Alex especially appreciated John, who was there every time he felt like he was suffocating in his skin. John, who called every day to make sure that he was alright. John who took the time to come and get him when he needed to get out of the house and out of his head.

  
And after awhile, it wasn’t as hard to go outside, to look around, to speak back, to start raising his hand in classes a few times a week, to _actually_ make attempts at small-talk with Lafayette. It hurt him that he’d been right there the whole time, yet he’d missed so much, and when the guilt choked him, John was there for that too.

  
When John decided to pursue their relationship further, he was careful. Asking Alexander’s boundaries, what was and wasn’t okay, and how he could help if it got to be too much.  
At first, it was hard. John couldn’t touch his waist. Or his torso extensively. Holding hands was okay, and so were hugs as long as they didn’t last too long.

  
John got into the routine of calling Alexander before his shift and making a point to see him after, usually eating dinner at the apartment. When laying together, he’d learned to situate himself, and Alexander would lay next to him, arranging himself against him so that if he John moved too fast for him, he could get up. He knew to mention plans at least a week in advance, and he knew how to convince Alexander to breathe, to calm down, and to stop writing when he’d grown into himself more. Friday nights were devoted to movies, which John had decided this when he discovered that Alexander had never seen Hercules (which made for an interesting first meeting with Lafayette’s boyfriend, when he’d finally decided to try to befriend his co-worker), the Princess Bride (which had led to him saying “as you wish”, every time John asked him to do something), or Mulan, (honestly, Alex? Defeating the Huns? He doesn’t do the tongue thing? Dishonour on your cow, it’s a _classic!_ )  
Alexander had often thought to himself that John was too good to him, and felt his heart squeeze uncontrollably, and his stomach flutter, when John tried to go out of his way to help and make him feel comfortable, and the need for his curly hair, and his golden skin, and soft lips would careen through him and before he could himself he was clambering onto him.

  
John would often find himself on his back suddenly, Alexander above him, pressing tiny kisses, to his eyelids, his nose, his cheekbones, and forehead, tracing his freckles, the hands on his chest. A warm body pressed onto his. His own hands flat against a surface or clenched, willing himself not to push back or bring his hands up for fear that Alex would stop. Holding his breath, never knowing how long it’d last, but hoping that it would last longer than it had the time before.

  
There was one the incident in which, Alexander had him on the couch, it was nearly dark, pink and blue peeking through the windows. The lights were off, the blinds open and his fingers were twitching as he refrained from trying to touch the younger. Feeling the wonderful, _real_ , beautiful weight of his love on him. He watched mesmerized, as a finger stroked his collarbone and Alexander gazed at him, dark eyes staring so deeply into him that it nearly pained him how much he love he felt. His hands tightened, and Alexander noticed, he eased them flat, holding him in his hands, and watching John for a moment, inviting without speaking.

  
So, John slowly, reluctantly, placed his hands on the hips he longed after for years and felt himself breathe for the first time since this had ever happened. There was a pregnant pause, as they watched each other, John for signs of discomfort, Alexander in infatuation.

  
A finger slipped beneath the darker boy’s shirt, stroking the soft skin of his belly, and stopped, trying to gauge his reaction. Alexander normally cringed away, but he pushed himself into John’s grip. His core nudged the other’s and he watched John’s breath hitch and did it again, before speaking.

  
“You’re made of stars John, I swear to God. Sometimes you’re like watching the sun. You’re so full of light, an-and so good, and it breaks my fucking heart _constantly_ , the way your ribs move when you breathe. The way your shoulders fall and your whole your face smiles, and you shine. You’re so- so-” he trailed off, his eyes shining.

  
He canted his body again and John’s heart flowed over.

  
“I love you,” he whispered into the dim living room. “I love you. You don’t even realize how much, do you? You’re so picturesque and soft, but loud and free underneath. You’re a goddamn Lautrec, Alexander. You’re unbelievable.” He thumbed the skin of his waist.

  
Alexander rubbed against him once more.

  
He wanted _this_. He could give John _this_.

  
John’s head fell back and he cupped Alexander’s chin. His face was soft and warm, flushing, as he set a slow rhythm.

  
“You make me feel like I could be good too,” Alex murmured under his breath, and John’s chest seized.

  
“You’re so beautiful, so lovely and perfect. So sharp and stunning, and _so fucking brilliant, shit_ -” John breathed, and pulled Alex down to him, kissing him deeply, and feeling him shake with exertion and indulgence.

  
“I love you, John. I love you, you- you keep me safe. It _hurts_ me, you make me so right that it m-akes my heart ache. I look at you sometimes and I think that I’m going to combust, and _oh_ -” he slid faster. “I love you, John, I loveyouIloveyou.”  
John felt a burning pool in his stomach that deepened before he could handle it, and then there were tears in his eyes, and he was holding Alexander as he trembled.

  
_He glowed so deeply._

____

It was a particularly bad day for Alexander when he boarded the train one night. He’d spilled coffee on the shirt Peggy had taken him to get the week before, a guy in his African-African American Studies class had muttered slurs about him under his breath when he’d corrected him on a biased opinion, and he was late to meet John. Rich noticed him sitting by himself and moved to sit next to him.

 

“S’not a good time, Rich,” he muttered wearily.

  
“You don’ ‘ave to talk, but ’m gonna talk to ‘ou ‘cause you needa’ hear it righ’ now,” he told him

  
So he sat, and he told him a story, about a man who had to sell the world for the man he loved, and how it hurt him terribly, but he’d loved the other so deeply that it’d felt like the right thing to do, and how it still set him ablaze every time that he woke up and his lover was gone, because he knew that he couldn’t ever be his again. Alexander put his head on his shoulder, closed his eyes and listened. When he finished, he turned to the elder.

  
“Rich, you know I’ve got a girl’s body, right? He turned to him, and when he nodded, he pressed further. “So why do you call me a boy?”

  
“Y’know I can’t pay you ba’ so why you give me money all’a time?” He asked back. “We do wha’ people need us ‘a do. You nee’ it. And you are a boy. Bodies don’ make us who ‘e are, ‘Xander.”

  
Alex pushed his face into his off-putting coat and cried, as though he were a child. A crooked hand reached up and rubbed his head.

  
“Thanks, Rich,” he murmured into his side.

  
And when he met John later that evening, he told him another story, of a boy who would’ve sold the world for the boy he loved, because he’d known him even when he’d forgotten who he was.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read. Feel free to leave a comment, feedback is welcome! 
> 
> (If you notice any pronoun mistakes, please let me know because this wasn't written as fanfic when I first wrote it and the characters had different names and genders.)


End file.
